Newtonmas 2011
by iphis15
Summary: Daily, slightly Newtonmas-y snippets for the month of December. T for Language, Insinuation and erotism.
1. Chapter 1

"Why so forlorn, dearest darling Fletcher?" Clarabelle's entrance to the room is accompanied by the jangling of the gold bangles hanging loosely around her thin wrists and the clatter of the little bells on her shawl. She is dressed festively, all red and gold, and she is grinning.

Fletcher, on the other hand, is most markedly not smiling. He is, in fact, frowning at the calendar hung on the wall of his kitchen. He has invited some of his (read as: all of his) friends to come eat dinner with him, since he wants to test out his recipes before it's actually Christmas and any damage will be irreversible and have long-lasting effects, and Clarabelle has arrived early. By a fortnight. He's still not sure how she managed that.

"It is now December," he says, still scowling. "There is no time at all before the neighbors begin playing their blasted Christmas Carols."

"Oh! Yes! I forgot about those!" Smiling vacantly, Clarabelle wanders off, clapping her hands together to make her bracelets sound and singing gibberish to the tune of _God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen_. Fletcher very gently hits his head against the wall with absolutely no regard for his hair.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Honestly, I'm actually awaiting the carols quite a bit, since I can't quite believe it's December already...**

**~Mademise Morte, December 1  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2

"Really, Clarabelle, I do appreciate your efforts, but I believe that the Dream Whisperers are quite adorned enough."

"But they look so sad and dead, Cassandra." Clarabelle's eyes are wide, innocent, her voice mournful and pleading, bordering on a pathetic wail. "They are twigs, Cassandra, nothing more! They are not even skin and bones, but twigs! It will soon be the Winter Solstice, Cassandra! The time for rebirth! Will you deny them that?"

Cassandra Pharos sighs, gently resting her fingertips against her forehead and counting up to sixty-nine. "Fine then, Clarabelle," she says at length. "You may decorate the Dream Whisperers if you really must."

"Excellent," says Clarabelle, who is already miraculously perched on a rafter, twining strips of red cloth around a small doll-form. "I'm really glad you've made this decision, I'm sure the dolls will be all the happier for it."

"They are Dream Whisperers, Clarabelle, not dolls."

"Well, I'm sure they'll be happier in any case."

Cassandra opens her mouth to argue some more, but after a moment she closes it again. Then she opens it once more, thinks, and then closes her mouth. There are some battles, she thinks grimly, that simply should not be fought.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I love writing Clarabelle, truly I do...**

**~Mademise Morte, December 2  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh my God, Fletcher, are you all right?" There is great concern to Valkyrie's tone and expression as she rushes into the kitchen of her house, where Fletcher has humbly asked to be allowed to try and practice cooking, because for some obscure reason he seems to think that being able to cook will make him a more masculine, capable person. It would, if it weren't for the fact that, a, he squeaked a lot when he did it and b, he got far too far into it.

"Yes," he says shortly, eyes closed and face tilted towards the ceiling. "I don't think I can say the same of the roast, but I am mostly all right. I think."

"Fletcher, I think you might want to look in a mirror."

"I am mostly aware of the fact that my face is coated with a layer of cremated beef, yes, I know."

"No, Fletcher, _your hair is on fire_."

With a high pitched shriek, Fletcher runs to the sink and tries to run cold water all over his head to douse the flames. Due to the amount of chemicals in his coiffure, this was not the easiest thing in the world.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Cooking may, in fact, be a perfectly masculine thing, but not if you're doing it just so you can wear the frilly apron.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 3  
><strong>


	4. Chapter 4

"Hello, who is this?"

"Hello, Valkyrie, this is Clarabelle. Are you tall?"

"I guess I am."

"How tall?"

"Tall-ish?"

"Can you reach the ceiling if you tiptoe?"

"Uh… Hold on." Valkyrie cradles her phone between her shoulder and her ear and stretches up one hand as she stands on tiptoe. Her fingertips brush against the ceiling. "Yeah, I can."

"Excellent. Can you come over to Fletcher's house and help me out? I want to hang up ornaments on his tree, but I'm much too short."

"Why can't Fletcher help you? And why, for that matter, are you at his house?"

"Firstly because he's panicking over his hair, which is still kind of burnt around the edges, and secondly because he has kindly allowed me to move in with him. My landlord got tired of me and kicked me out. Apparently he didn't think cookies were an appropriate form of payment for my rent. Honestly, I think he just didn't like me very much. And he needed the space, I guess."

"Okay. I'll come over and help with the ornaments."

"Yay, thanks!"

Valkyrie is dumbstruck when she arrives at Fletcher's apartment and finds Clarabelle standing in a sea of paper-crane ornaments.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Happily, after many hours of intensive crane-stringing, my room is once again navigable. Ahem.  
><strong>

**~Mademise Morte, December 4  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

The Sanctuary's festivities are in full swing. The rooms smell all of charred meat and oversweet honey and bubbly alcohol, and sticks of mint incense are burning around every doorway. The people, who are many for the small space, are laughing and talking and exhilarated at the thought that they are mostly going to be released for a holiday after this. They are also, on the whole, absolutely stinking drunk.

Crystal and Carol are here, having forced their ways into administrative jobs by playing up their ancestry. They are actually surprisingly a lot nicer, now that they live and work around magic on a daily basis. It's like some integral need of theirs has disappeared.

Crystal laughs, as intoxicated as Hell. "I'm going to ask her," she murmurs to her twin, who laughs too, and then she saunters over to the Elder Mage in the gossamer-thin robes while her sister stares with deep amusement. "Go out with me," she says brashly, words tumbling and melding into each other.

Madame Mist stares at the younger girl, and almost imperceptibly, her lips twitch into a smirk. "Certainly," she says, trying not to laugh, "But are you absolutely sure you could handle me?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I looked at what I had of the story and decided that it needed moar crack, so this happened. :D**

**~Mademise Morte, December 5  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

His long-fingered hand stretches out slowly, languidly, and he gently plucks the locket off her chest. He rolls the piece of gold about in his fingertips, eyes shut, and she considers punching him.

"Whose hair is it?" His speech is soft, silken against the night breezes, though it is also abrupt and sharp, an aberration in the quiet of the evening. "In your necklace?

She licks her lips, for they have become dry. "It's none of your business," she says, and her voice cracks strangely over the words, she has no idea why. That it comes from her state of nerves does not occur to her at all – she idly blames it on the conditions of her surroundings and the handsome young man in front of her, because, like it or not, she thinks that Hansard Kray is rather nice to look at.

"Really, Valkyrie? It's that personal?"

She sighs. "It's a memento from my last lover."

"Oh? You are no longer together, and yet you hold on to his memory?" Hansard raises an eyebrow.

"I like to remind myself of the people I've killed," she says, smiling and reclaiming the locket of Caelan's hair, savoring Hansard's expression of horror.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Kehe :3**

**~Mademise Morte, December 6  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

"Chocolate for you, Valkyrie?" China smiles cordially as she stands to go to the kitchen, to attend to beverages for her guest and herself.

"Just tea, thanks," says Valkyrie, politely as she can. The room is warm, as overheated as any indoor place in the Irish winter, and Valkyrie is beginning to regret not wearing anything under her jacket, as it is far too hot.

"What kind?"

"Whatever. Earl Grey works, I suppose."

"All-right, then." China is still smiling as she returns to the coffee table, next to which Valkyrie is slumped. "So, how has your first week of the Christmas season been? Anything particularly interesting happen?"

Valkyrie sighs, frowning and closing her eyes for a moment. "God. It's been hectic. Far too many exciting things for me thus far. I need some peace."

"I think you'll find that I'm a very peaceful person, Valkyrie," China says with a strange look on her face. "If you want me to be, of course."

As she leans herself weakly into the kiss, all Valkyrie can think of is how cool China's skin is and how at ease it puts her, an island of sanity in the world that she now calls home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: If anyone knows where I got the second-to-last line from, I would love to know. Because I'm pretty sure I didn't come up with it, but I cannot for the life of me remember who did.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 7  
><strong>


	8. Chapter 8

"Stop sulking, Fletcher, and help me with this." Valkyrie is scowling at the blond who is looking mournfully into the middle distance.

"I cannot, Valkyrie, for I am burdened impossibly by this most horrific of happenings. I am forever scarred, my peace forever marred. The specter of this incident shall rest upon my shoulders for the rest of all eternity." He blinks away tears that threaten at his eyes. "This is forever a blotch on my mental state, which is otherwise as clean and pure as a lily, or some equivalent flower. Now? I shall become like Caelan. I will wear only black and live in shadows and stalk people because I feel utterly worthless. And stuff."

"I hate to have to point this out," says Valkyrie crisply as she cuts an apple into very small pieces, "But you're stronger than this. You have fought Gods, Fletcher. _Gods_. You should really be above sinking into deep depression over the state of your hair."

The stare he casts her is baleful. "Well," he says darkly, "I am not. So there, Valkyrie. What are you going to do about it?"

In response, she throws a handful of flour at him. He disappears.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I had to touch raw meat today as part of preparing my lunch. Seriously considering vegetarianism now.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 8  
><strong>


	9. Chapter 9

"Do Necromancers observe Christ-mas?" Clarabelle has her chin propped in her hand, and she is staring at Wreath with a great deal of interest.

"Who doesn't? It's become a commercial celebration, after all. Doesn't have a damn thing to do with the Christ."

"You look unhappy about that." Clarabelle attempts a smile, realizes that it puts far too much of a strain on her facial muscles, and settles for a half-grimace.

"Suffice it to say that life was much easier when Christmas was a purely religious event." His expression is one of absolute weariness.

"How so?"

"Well, for example, mistletoe. That is very likely one of the most annoying things in the world. Another thing I greatly dislike? The clashing color scheme. Dear Gods, the color scheme. Who puts green and red together like that? I mean, really? It is just so tacky. And all the airtime they give to all those remade Christmas songs? Half of those people can't even sing. Prices go up, and everywhere is just that much more crowded, and it's just so obnoxiously happy. And chestnuts. Chestnuts! I have nothing against them in general, but the smell gets bloody everywhere!"

Fascinated, Clarabelle watches Solomon rant.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whenever I see the horrific decorations on the streets, I bite my tongue and mentally chant the word _Newtonmas_ to myself.  
><strong>

**~Mademise Morte, December 9  
><strong>


	10. Chapter 10

"Everyone seems to be singularly disaster prone this year," observes the Nye serenely. "So lovely. It's like an advent calendar of horrific accidents."

"Please, just shut up," says Valkyrie, frowning rather threateningly at the doctor, who raises its hands defensively and nods, lips curling into a small smile.

"As you wish, horrific accident the tenth."

"It's not that amusing, you know. I'm sure this happens to loads of people."

"Undoubtedly," says the Nye, unable to prevent a small smirk. "However, for some reason, the law of diminishing returns has not yet made much of an impact on this particular source of humor. Every time I see someone who has managed to carve off a bit of their finger along with their Christmas roast, it is exactly as hilarious as the first time."

"Seriously, you need to be quiet before I carve _your _fingers off."

"These?" It holds its hands up, digits long in their latex gloves. "You may do as you like, dear Valkyrie, but I must warn you that it won't be nearly as fun as you think. These aren't even mine to begin with, after all.

Valkyrie stares, blinks a few times and then shudders quite rather violently.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: One of my father's clients once gouged a hole in her leg by kicking a carving knife. I still wince whenever I think of that.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 10  
><strong>


	11. Chapter 11

"The saddest moment of my life was probably finding out that girly slumber parties don't actually involve lingerie, pillowfights and a lot of shrieking all at once." Crystal pauses pensively. "Well, either that or finding out that Valkyrie had magic and we didn't. That was pretty sad."

"It was, wasn't it?" Carol laughs. "Such a pervert you are, though, for that first."

'What, you mean you weren't disappointed when you discovered that?" Crystal giggles as Carol shrugs.

"I guess, a bit. Well, even if those slumber parties exist solely in fiction, we have the comforts of magic."

"Absolutely true." Crystal is cheerful now. "Pass the sugar?"

Carol complies. "The happiest moment of my life was probably either when I first met China Sorrows or found out that our mother was dead. One of those."

"Nice." Crystal sprinkles the sugar lightly over the cupcakes. "We've led damn weird lives, haven't we?"

"That we have, lovely sister, but we are all the happier for them, are we not?"

"We are." Sharing a loving look, they pause for a moment before returning to their baking. In a few hours, they will hopefully be able to bring these obnoxiously sweet confections to their lovers.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Just random fluff, romance optional.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 11  
><strong>


	12. Chapter 12

"You are absolutely insane."

He inclines his head politely. "Thank you ever so much for the compliment. I appreciate a great deal, as I am sure you must imagine."

"Crazy. You're a lunatic." The look of vague incredulity has not disappeared, is accompanied by a quick furrow of the brow and a half-humorous twist of the corner of the lips.

"You do praise me so. I am, of course, incredibly flattered, though I know you speak nothing but the truth."

"Skulduggery, I hope you realize how absolutely delusional you are to think that this will work."

"I do not think that this will work, I know that it shall. You really should leave off with all this congratulation, I do believe I understand the gist of it by now."

"You think that the Sanctuary will just let us waltz in there and demand a marriage ceremony on the strength of the fact that we ask them?"

"Yes."

"Just like that?"

"Yes."

"Even though we're both men, there's an age gap of a few centuries and you're dead?"

"Yes."

"You are either a genius or a belong in an asylum."

"I'd prefer to think both, but thank you for that, Fletcher."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: To make up for the Skulduggery-neglect.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 12  
><strong>


	13. Chapter 13

"Do you have any idea how distracting that is? Stop it."

"If such a small thing as a little noise can distract you from your work, then you are horribly badly equipped to perform vivisection. Or something."

"Clarabelle, I hate to break this to you, but performing the Moonlight Sonata using a collection of beakers and blades whilst humming _America the Beautiful_ in a completely different key and timing in coloratura pitch is not just _a little noise_. It is the most horrific thing mortal ears have been cursed to hear since cats learnt to sing."

"Oh, is that what it is? I forgot."

"I'm sorry?"

"_America the Beautiful_. I was trying to remember what it was. Thanks."

"Does that mean that you will stop now?"

"No, just that I can sing another part for the Moonlight Sonata. Thanks." Clarabelle nods cheerily and returns to her mockery of music. The Nye opens its mouth, about to speak or shout, or maybe just distract Clarabelle further, but is interrupted by the almost-corpse it is slicing up suddenly and violently waking.

"I swear, Clarabelle, the racket you are making can wake the dead," the Nye murmurs wearily.

"Thank you!" beams his assistant.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: There were several places where I could have insulted a whole variety of musicians, but I didn't. Aren't I _nice_?**

**~Mademise Morte, December 13  
><strong>


	14. Chapter 14

"Fletcher, I'm starting to think that this new obsession of yours is rather unhealthy…"

"What? Why?" Fletcher squeaks, vocal register going up by about an octaves. "What have I done now?"

"Well, it's not so much anything that you've _done_. I mean, I've always known about your addiction-prone personality…"

"Oh God, you're going to break up with me, aren't you?"

"I mean, your hair was the last one…"

"You just had to bring that up, didn't you?"

"And now apparently it's cooking… Fletcher, I love you. I know that you know this, because I tell you on a fairly regular basis, and you do tend to acknowledge this as fact. However, Fletcher, there is a tint of the distinctly masochistic, possibly even the borderline suicidal, in your fascination with burning up meat."

"You know I'm not trying to ruin all the food I cook, right? It just… Happens."

"It still scares me. Sometimes I just want the old Fletcher back, the one who cares about his hair far too much."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I happen to enjoy cooking, and I'm not about to change because you tell me to!"

"I knew there was a reason why I love you…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Kehe :3**

**~Mademise Morte, December 14  
><strong>


	15. Chapter 15

"You look perturbed, dear. Is something the matter?" China Sorrows is leaning against the side of the sofa, legs loosely crossed—she is wearing slacks—and looking up at her lover with an indulgent smile.

"World's going crazy, and I miss Tanith. So much." Valkyrie sighs, eyes closed and arms folded tightly around her legs, which have been brought up against her chest. She does not look like a particularly stable person at the moment, though she does look reasonably awake and coherent. "By the way, Skulduggery and Fletcher have invited you to their wedding."

"Fantastic. I see what you meant about the world going crazy."

"I rather thought you would." Valkyrie shudders for a moment, and she draws herself into an even tighter posture. "I'm sorry for bringing up Tanith."

"It's fine, dear," says China, and to her credit, she really does mean it, because as much as she hates that she is the second choice, the leftover, she knows how much happier Valkyrie would be with Tanith, and more than anything, she wants her to be happy. She supposes that means she doesn't love her enough, that she would leave her to another, but still. She loves her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The snippet for the last chapter has been fixed. Sorry about that.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 15  
><strong>


	16. Chapter 16

"Valkyrie," China says evenly, the smallest of smiles tugging about the edge of her lips, "This is not a criticism, just a casual sort of question, formed through curiosity alone."

"Yes, China?" asks Valkyrie warily, lifting her head up to give the most beautiful woman in the world a steady gaze, or as steady a gaze as she can muster up, which, admittedly, bears more of a mark of _lovestruck_ than particularly steady.

China nods calmly, gathering her thoughts around her and rearranging them like they are books on a shelf in her library. "Is there any particular reason why you were wearing a jacket by way of upper-body clothing and absolutely nothing else?"

Valkyrie stares at her lover, mouth agape. She blinks several times, attempting to form words, or even to gain some semblance of coherence. She fails miserably at this endeavor, of course, as coherence really isn't in the mood to help her out. She blinks yet more, still speechless, and then she buries her face in her arms, which are folded over her legs.

China Sorrows looks on, mouth twitching at this display of complete and utter shock, and finally, she cannot help but to laugh merrily.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yuri makes the world go round.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 16  
><strong>


	17. Chapter 17

"So, Clarabelle, how have the crane decorations been holding up?"

"Well, I think the lacquering has kept them in pretty good shape. I was a bit concerned when the tree caught fire last week, but they actually managed to survive. Shocking, right?"

"What."

"Hm?"

"The tree caught _fire_?"

"Yes."

"_When_?"

"Last week. You know, Valkyrie, I'm pretty sure I already said that. Are you feeling quite all-right?"

"Not really. The _tree_ caught _fire_?"

"Yes. So did various pieces of wooden furniture, a small part of the floor, a couple of magazines and most of Fletcher's haircare products."

Valkyrie blinks, quite aghast. "How exactly did this happen? I thought he refused to work in the kitchenette, thus the invasion of my house."

"He did, of course, so this wasn't his fault for once." Clarabelle smiles brightly, eyes glittering. "No, I tripped while I was holding a candle, which flew out of my hands onto a pile of magazines and hairgel that just happened to be on the table next to the Christmas tree. Accidentally, of course."

Valkyrie doesn't say anything, just staring.

"I can be really clumsy sometimes," says Clarabelle, and to her credit, she says it with a straight face.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Kehe.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 17  
><strong>


	18. Chapter 18

Clarabelle sings lightly to herself as she puts the finishing touches on her cake. It is, quite honestly, more fruit than cake, but she doesn't really care, and no one is exactly going to argue with her. If it's sweet and it doesn't fall apart, then that's kind of a miracle all on its own, considering the kind of history Clarabelle has with bakery. She enjoys it, and it hates her.

When she is sure that it is shaped and centered and nicely arranged and not crumbling into a pile of fruit-mix, she grins and she picks up the heavy glass bottle filled with booze. Gently, she starts soaking the cake, stopping every now and then to make sure that it's still reasonably intact. It is, though this is just another miracle. That is a _lot _of alcohol for one tiny little fruitcake.

When she is done, and it is sopping wet and drooping slightly. She surveys it with a certain amount of delight, glee playing around the corner of her lips and in the glint of her eyes. She rummages around in a drawer for a while, and she turns back to her cake and sets it on fire.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Just some pyromaniacal fluff.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 18  
><strong>


	19. Chapter 19

"And, for once, I have actually succeeded in creating a meal without burning it. I am proud in the extreme, and I'm sure you all are too, because this is a minor miracle that has been produced solely for the sake of your amusement. And, you know, health."

"That sounds very rehearsed."

"Yes, Clarabelle, because I'm rehearsing it."

"Well, that's kind of silly. Speeches should be spontaneous. Spontaneity is a good thing. Besides, everything's burnt, like always. Shouldn't you be working on the actual food as opposed to the speech that's meant to accompany it?"

"The speech is more fun."

"Fletcher, I am going to either set fire to your ruined food or whatever pathetic remnants of hair you have left. It's entirely up to you, but I'd go for the food, if I were you."

He blinks at her. "You're bullying me."

"I know."

"It's mean."

"It's meant to be."

"I don't like it."

"You're not meant to."

"I'll tell Skulduggery on you."

"Great. Now, get back in the kitchen or your hair gets it." Her grin is sweet, with the malicious edge to it of the razor in your lollipop that's just itching to tear your throat out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I like writing psychotic Clarabelle. It's kind of amusing.**

**~Mademise Morte  
><strong>


	20. Chapter 20

"Um… Hi. Hey."

"Hello, mortal Renn. How are you on this day?"

"Okay, I guess. Thanks. I'm fine, really."

"Injured in a major, life-threatening way?"

"Not particularly."

"Suffering from a debilitating disease that has removed your ability and willpower to live?"

"I don't think so."

"In any way close to death in a particularly grotesque, humorous or otherwise dramatic manner?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Then why, mortal Renn, have you come to me?" The Nye raises eyebrows that are not there and places its hands on its hips.

"I wanted to speak to you about Clarabelle."

"Who's that?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"I don't believe I am, though one can never be sure."

"Your assistant?"

"Ah, yes. _Her_. What about her?"

"Do you think she might be, I don't know, crazy and sadistic to the point of being able to cheerfully slaughter?"

"Oh, absolutely! She's completely cold-blooded, heartless, cruel and absolutely capable of killing you a hundred ways to midnight. It's sweet, really, to see her performing vivisection on the still-breathing corpses and listening to them scream. Why, why do you ask?"

Fletcher blinks and swallows the urge to run away crying bloody murder. It's not easy at all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The Nye is such a delight.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 20  
><strong>


	21. Chapter 21

Madame Mist is rather ruffled. In fact, she quite resembles a small, fat, rather fluffy animal of the class _Aves_.

The cause of her disgruntlement is essentially quite simple, though of course you could break it down and complicate it beyond recognition. Indeed, it is true that she wasn't able to get a second cup of coffee, and yes, it is entirely factual that she has not been very productive at all today, but what you must ask yourself is whether that is really enough to validate the fact that she is presently doing a rather good imitation of a piece of Avian statuary, and I rather suspect you will find that it is not.

Now, what is almost certainly enough to make her shock not only plausible, not only accessible, but also characteristic and believable, is nothing other than the sight of the Elders Ravel and Bespoke engaged in ever-so-slightly unmentionable, abjectly shocking and incredibly scandal-worthy acts over Madame Mist's desk.

She stares at them coldly for a minute, considers freezing them as they are, rethinks this and stalks away, wondering when, if ever, she'll get her workspace back. She might end up burning the desk, she thinks darkly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Not an unfair reaction, I doubt.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 21  
><strong>


	22. Chapter 22

"Are you capable of completely removing memories from the human mind?"

"I'm capable of completely removing the human mind, if that's really what you're after. Hello, Elder Mist."

"Hello. Do you have anything that wouldn't leave the subject diminished apart from the removal of a five-minute chunk of time?"

"I am told that copious amounts of alcohol, if consumed in advance, will have the effect of removing short periods of time from recollection, if no triggers come up."

"Won't work. Anything that induces retrograde amnesia?"

"Short of obliterating every memory from the last ten years? No. What exactly is prompting this? It's not like you to be so unreasonable, and I say that from a purely objective point of view."

"Is this really so important?"

"If you are about to go on a homicidal rampage, then yes, it is extremely important. By the by, killing all involved with a traumatic incident one wishes to forget is often said to alleviate the trauma somewhat, though of course that would be deeply immoral." The Nye coughs.

"Really? Why, that is excellent!"

"So who are you going to slaughter?"

"Bespoke and Ravel."

"Can I have them when you're done?" It smiles hopefully.

"No."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I actually feel quite sorry for the poor thing. It probably hasn't gotten many corpses at the Sanctuary so far...**

**~Mademise Morte, December 22  
><strong>


	23. Chapter 23

Valkyrie looks nervous. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, but without menace. She seems almost apologetic at the moment. "Carol…" she says softly, and her voice quivers.

Her cousin regards her calmly, and then she shakes her head. "You're going to tell me that China's been with you for the past few weeks, aren't you?"

"How… How did you know?"

"Oh, so it is true after all." Carol blinks tears away, and then she smiles. "I'm not blind, after all. And I did think I recognized your boots."

"I feel really horrible about it. You're free to harm me as you wish."

"Oh, stop wallowing in your misery. Like I'd ever do anything that would hurt the one I love so much. She's happier with you, just like you'd be happier with blonde chick, who is living a wonderfully fulfilled life with the eyeless Texan. Get over it, and get on with your existence."

"You'll really forgive me?"

"Never. But I love her too much for you to be an issue. I'm not going to endanger what we have by confronting her."

"So you confront me?"

"Yep."

"Sometimes I forget I'm related to you…"

"I can't imagine how." Carol grins fiercely.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Kehe. =3**

**~Mademise Morte, December 23  
><strong>


	24. Chapter 24

It is Christ-mas eve, and Clarabelle promised she would come to celebrate. The Nye knows this for a fact, because it has been anticipating this ever since she first mentioned it a few weeks past.

It is Christ-mas eve, and Clarabelle is not here.

It looks around mournfully. The room is gorgeous, with its metal and its corpses and its blood. It's quite chic in a surrealist way, and there's no place the Nye would rather be. Still, it wishes that its rather loopy pyromaniac of an assistant would hurry up and keep it company. It's lonely.

To pass the time, it speaks to the carcasses. It tells them stories about the glut of subjects it receives after the binge-drinking that marks out the Yule celebrations, about that one year when a group of young people had killed themselves playing Russian Roulette just outside of its working-space, and with every memory, it becomes more despondent.

When it has given up hope and is burying its head in its hands, there is the whisper of flames, and it looks up and smiles at the sight of its assistant holding what looks suspiciously like a fruitcake that has been set on fire.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Getting all angsty and depressed because I spent last Christmas with object-of-infatuation, and because I'm stuck in Singapore. Where there is no snow. Unlike the UK. Also, no object-of-infatuation. Also unlike the UK.**

**TL;DR: angst angst angst angst angst.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 24  
><strong>


	25. Chapter 25

They look gravely at each other over the table, eyes saying so much more than the silence would lead you to believe they are managing to communicate. The candle on the table is flickering slowly to itself, adding infinitely to the illicit atmosphere.

Languorously, a leg is extended, and the man with the scarred face jumps slightly, but not a lot. The peace is not overly disturbed, in some ways, and in others, it never really existed.

"How long do you think it's going to take for the mad old bird to find us?" Erskine grins winningly, and Ghastly grimaces.

"It'll never be anywhere near long enough, believe you me."

"Oh, I believe you." Erskine winces a bit, but soon returns to his jocular state. "How is your food?"

"Wonderful, though it isn't quite what I was looking for…" The scarred man bats his eyelids in a fashion that attempts 'sultry', but just about manages 'confused'. "Merry Christmas, by the way."

"A very merry Christmas to you too." It is Erskine now that bats his eyelids, and he, unlike his lover, not only achieves sultry but surpasses it. Ghastly does not quite faint, but he isn't far off from it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: 'Faint' in this context meaning 'nosebleed to death'.**

**A joyous Newtonmas to you!  
><strong>

**~Mademise Morte, December 25  
><strong>


	26. Chapter 26

"Thank you so much for providing me with housing, Fletcher. I am truly appreciative. Without your kind help, I'd probably either have perished or turned to prostitution." Clarabelle smiles, and the expression seems almost genuine.

"Uh… You're welcome, I guess."

"And I'm really sorry for all the horrible accidents I've caused, the messes I've made… It was, for the most part, unintentional." Her grin borders on the maniacal, for a moment, but it remains, to a certain extent, winningly contrite.

"Thank you… I suppose."

"And I didn't entirely mean it when I made fun of your half-burnt hair, or how vain you are, or how bad a cook you would make…"

"Okay."

"Oh, and your relationship with your affianced skeleton. Totally didn't mean to wreck that."

"…"

"I know how difficult it must be to believe that, but it's sort of true."

"Well, I suppose I did, kind of, but I didn't really mean to cause you so much anguish."

"… Right."

"Well, maybe I kind of did. 'Kay-thanks-bye." Still grinning widely, Clarabelle begins to skip away, leaving behind her a trail of still-smoldering ruins that had, up until very recently, been habitable houses, and one extremely dazed-looking Fletcher Renn.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Clarabelle: patron saint of ruining the lives of one's benefactors...**

**Hey, at least she didn't murder this one.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 26  
><strong>


	27. Chapter 27

"Hello, Cassandra."

"Solomon. Please, feel free to stop standing around gawking and come help me untangle this." She casts him an irritable look that isn't much related to his arrival.

"What exactly happened here?" He blinks, taking in the sight that is the inside of Cassandra's house. Everything, from guitar to window to bundled herbs, is covered with fine red ribbon.

"The damn pyromaniac girl happened. What's her name?"

"If you'll forgive me saying so, this looks more like a haberdashery incident than a pyromaniac's work."

"Trust me, she's a pyromaniac. Or perhaps just a maniac in general. In any event, yes, this is thread and not fire, but it's still rather annoying. Besides, she said she was doing this for Christmas, and that is over. I'm sorry, is something the matter?"

Solomon, in the meantime, has turned white with horror. He turns to leave the building, but the door, too, is covered with the symbolic decorations for Christmas. With a muffled scream, he collapses.

Cassandra blinks. "What are you doing? Are you all-right? Would you please get off my floor? It's quite dusty, you see, and if someone were to open the door now, then you'd be an obstruction…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I am so tired.**

**That is all.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 27  
><strong>


	28. Chapter 28

"What are you doing here, Clarabelle?" China's voice is sweet, smooth, even soft, but she has already set up a few dozen binding spells in the area around the vacant-eyed girl.

"I got lost. I panicked. I broke in through your window."

"Clarabelle, were you aware of the fact that you have actively caused mass destruction and much loss of life?"

Her grin is sickening in its shamelessness. "Yep. What about you, China? Are you aware of all you have done? Do you know the hearts you've broken, the lies you've told? Did you count the lives you ruined?"

"I have," the dark-haired woman says simply. "I've paid for them all."

"Can you ever place a price on human life, China? Can you?"

"I believe that you cannot, but if ever you could, I have paid for them all a thousand times over. Have you?"

"No, I haven't, because when I say I don't believe that you can, I mean it, and if I died now, I wouldn't even have begun paying for even the first. I try to live without regrets."

"You can try to live in a jail cell," mutters China as she unleashes the layers of magic.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I think I had a bit too much fun with this one.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 28  
><strong>


	29. Chapter 29

"Hello, China."

"Welcome back, Valkyrie. It is lovely to see you."

"And you, dear. How was your day?"

"It was great. Just… Great." Valkyrie Cain grins as she removes her coat – she actually remembered to wear something under it this time, notes China slightly forlornly. Still, even in a tank-top and jeans, Valkyrie is lovely, all tanned skin and bright smile. China stands and walks towards her.

A few minutes later, when they are curled up together against the sofa, Valkyrie coughs hesitantly. "China?" she asks, voice soft.

"Yes, dearling?" China Sorrows bats her eyelids at Valkyrie Cain, the corners of her lips pulling up with affection.

"I hope you don't think me impolite or ungrateful or anything, but I feel like I really need to ask you this."

"What is it? Has something gone horrifically awry?" China arches an eyebrow, still smiling.

"Well, I'm not sure yet. It's possible. Though, you know, not at all definite."

"Are you leaving me, Valkyrie?"

"Oh, Gods no!" She pauses, blushing. "Just… Why is Clarabelle tied up and in the corner?"

"Why, dearling, that is for me to know and for you to never find out. She'll be gone soon, though, I promise."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: 'Dearling' is my new favorite word. I decided it a moment ago.**

**Seriously.**

**~Mademise Morte, December 29  
><strong>


	30. Chapter 30

"Hey, Ghastly." Fletcher smiles widely. He is looking much better after a haircut, though still nothing like he once did.

"Hello, Fletcher. How are you doing?"

"I'm pretty okay, I guess. Things kind of fell apart with Skulduggery, but we're working to fix them up again."

"And you two had just gotten the Sanctuary to do your bidding, too." There is a quiet kind of amusement to Ghastly's voice.

"I know, right! Anyway, where were you the other night? We all missed you."

"Surely you were so busy with your food and your great company that you had no opportunity to."

"Hah! I'd be a bad host not to notice. So, what happened? Did Clarabelle do a number on you too?"

"What?"

"Well, as far as I knew, she's just spent the last few weeks ruining as many lives as possible, so I wondered."

"Oh, no, not her fault at all. I was… I was with Erskine, actually." Ghastly blushes red.

"You could have brought him to dinner too, you know."

"We might have been hiding from Madam Mist, as well."

"Woman are crazy, aren't they?"

"Don't be sexist." Ghastly pauses. "They really can be, though."

"Truth, Ghastly. Absolute truth."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Kehe. :)**

**~Mademise Morte, December 30  
><strong>


	31. Chapter 31

The jail-cell is magically bound, and it is hollow and empty and lonely, and Clarabelle is staring up at the stone ceiling, and she is breathing strangely. She thinks, dully, distantly, that it sounds a little like she is crying, or maybe laughing. She can't tell, in the end, because without the tears and without the mirth, it could be anything.

Her nails dig into her palms, and still she cannot stop the shuddering, whatever it is, and she wishes, fleetingly, that she had enough tears to shed, because at least then there wouldn't be all this uncertainty.

"What's wrong?" The girl outside the cell is short, with curious green eyes.

"I did it again. Ruined everything." Clarabelle, who had caught her breath for one dizzying moment, is shaking again.

"Again?"

"Yeah. I've done it, like, four times. It's a habit of mine. I'm sorry, can I help you?"

"No. It's just that it's the new year's eve, and I got lonely. I do that sometimes. Forgive me. So, are you looking for someone else to mess up?"

"I never am, somehow. Why? You interested?" Without even realizing it, Clarabelle is breathing normally again.

Thurid Guild's daughter smiles. "I am."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hehe. :)**

**Anyway, writing this calendar has been fun, and I hope y'all have a lovely year ahead of you.**

**And yes, I did just use the contraction 'y'all'. Gods, I feel dirty now...**

**~Mademise Morte, December 31  
><strong>


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